


Migraine

by dksm41



Category: S.W.A.T. (TV 2017)
Genre: Gen, Hospitalization, Mentions of Public Shootings, Street & Luca Friendship, Swearing, Vomiting, migraines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 08:21:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dksm41/pseuds/dksm41
Summary: Street probably should’ve told them he had hit his head pretty hard during the fight, but he didn’t, so he supposed the resulting migraine was his punishment. Luckily, he has his best friend to help him through it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Word Count: 4,143 words; nine pages on Word
> 
> Author’s Note: Ahhhh! I love Street and Luca friendship! I love writing and reading stories of them interacting with each other. It’s my favorite!
> 
> So I normally get migraines, and, I admit, this was not the best description of one. I kinda just really wanted this out, so I think I rushed it a bit too much However, to make up for it, I am willing to do a second chapter on this, should people want it. Up to you guys. Until then, please enjoy!

xxxxxxx

 

Luca let out a loud sigh of relief as he and Street entered their shared home, dropping their backpacks on either side of the door. “Duke!” he called out. Street resisted a flinch. Damn, his head was throbbing.

 

The large golden retriever came bounding from the direction of Luca’s room, a chew toy in his mouth. The toy squeaked loudly as Duke chomped down and jumped onto the couch, tail wagging in excitement. He stood on the cushions, eagerly expecting Street or Luca to cuddle next to him. Sometimes, it’d even end up both. Today definitely qualified for both.

 

“Holy shit,” Luca yawned, throwing himself onto the couch. He buried his hand into Duke’s soft fur. “What a day.”

 

Normally, Street would’ve responded with a witty comeback, or at least entertained the conversation, but he didn’t feel well enough to do that. Luca was right; the day had been a complete disaster. A white supremacist rally had been held at a college campus. One thing led to another and, soon, the team was hunting down a terrorist responsible for gunning down five college students. Two of them were dead and the other three were still in critical condition at the hospital.

 

Tension had been running high. The team was hard-pressed to find the man responsible. They had tracked him through most of Los Angeles until they had finally cornered him in a warehouse sitting in an abandoned business district. The day had ended with Chris Hemmings in prison, but not before Street had his head slammed up against a metal pole. Hemmings had put up a fight. The team hadn’t been far behind, but they had gotten separated. Street had kept Hemmings busy for at least two minutes before the team caught up. It had been Tan and Luca who rushed in and tossed Hemmings off of their teammate. Six-foot-seven and three-hundred-twenty pounds, Hemmings was one hell of an opponent.

 

Street had played off the fact that Hemmings had slammed his head into a metal pole. He played off the fact that he couldn’t see straight for a few moments, that he had a pounding headache and probable concussion. They didn’t know, and he intended to keep it that way. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

 

Street let out a deep breath and leaned himself into the opposite side of the couch, wanting to relax, only to tense up when Duke’s heavy body practically jumped onto his lap. He let out a soft grunt as the canine reminded him of the many bruises that littered his body.

 

“Hey, hey, hey. Duke, here,” Luca called sternly, reaching over and tugging his dog’s collar lightly. Duke complied and turned back around, choosing to plop himself in between Luca and Street, facing Luca and gnawing on a bone the older male had offered him from the coffee table.

 

Once his companion was distracted, Luca looked up, petting Duke’s head as he apologized. “Sorry about that. I forgot about the whole, you know, beat up by a guy thirty times your size thing.”

 

Street scowled at the smirk on Luca’s face. The apology was sincere, but the joke was to ease the mood. “He was _not_ thirty times my size.”

 

“Forty?”

 

“I hate you.”

 

He could hear Luca snicker but chose to ignore it as he tilted his head back against the couch, resting his neck on the cushions and relaxing his tense muscles. It felt nice to unwind, and it eased some pressure off of his aching head.

 

“How are you feeling anyway?” Luca asked suddenly, after a moment of silence, besides Duke’s teeth grating against the bone.

 

Street turned towards him and gave a confused look. “What do you mean?”

 

Luca rolled his eyes. “How do you feel? Do you need a heating pad? Ibuprofen?”

 

“Oh,” Street murmured. He tilted his head back to look forward, closing his eyes. “No. No, I’m good. Tired as hell, though.”

 

Luca hummed. “You got that right. Go to bed then.”

 

Street took a deep breath and opened his eyes once more. “Not now,” he muttered, a soft confession. “Not...so soon.”

 

Luca pursed his lips and nodded curtly. “I know.”

 

“I see those teenagers every time I close my eyes,” Street sighed. “Two dead and the other three might not even make it.”

 

“I know,” Luca replied quietly.

 

“And knowing that the asshole who did it is in prison doesn’t help. It doesn’t bring them back,” Street ranted. He felt the tension building up in his chest, felt the anger brewing all over again. He wanted nothing more than to go up against Hemmings again, to land a few more punches. It made no sense to him. Why did things have to escalate this way? What happened to using words? Why did people have to shoot each other now over differences in opinion? Why did everybody have a superiority complex?

 

“Hey,” Luca whispered, voice soft. Street glanced at his friend, saw the sadness in his eyes. “I _know_.”

 

Right. Luca did know. He did know what it felt like. He had to witness the dead bodies of kids younger than the college students they witnessed today. He knew what it was like. It didn’t make things better, though. If there was one thing Street learned from Luca, it was that those kinds of things never truly went away.

 

“Right, sorry,” Street murmured.

 

“Don’t worry about it. I get it. It sucks, man. It really does. We just have to remember that Hemmings is locked away now. He can’t hurt anybody else.” Luca occupied himself by playing tug-of-war with Duke and the bone.

 

Street let out a deep breath and rubbed at his throbbing temples. “I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

 

“Wanna watch the next episode of _Black Mirror_?” Luca suggested, shrugging his shoulders.

 

It was a good enough idea. It would keep his mind off of the day, so Street agreed.

 

Reclined back in his seat, Street’s hand wove its way into the soft fur along Duke’s spine, absentmindedly stroking the dog as he tried to recall what the hell was going in this show. The three of them sat in silence as the show in front of them played. It was nights like this that Street was grateful Luca had forgiven him for being kicked off the team. He didn’t realize how much he had missed sharing a home with his friend. After the whole fiasco with his mom and couch-surfing, Street was glad that he finally had a family to rely on.

 

He should have known the world wouldn’t let him be that peaceful.

 

It had started off as a throbbing pain at the sides of his temples. It was to be expected - he had hit the pole pretty hard - but as the minutes passed, and _Black Mirror_ continued to screw with his mind, Street found himself slowly becoming detached from the show, distracted by the pain and the pressure building up in his head. The pain went from a throb to a sharp stabbing, like an icepick chipping away at his skull. The pressure was pushing from the inside out, as if it were a person pushing open cellar doors. The pain felt so real that Street found himself massaging his scalp underneath his hair as a method of trying to soothe away the pain.

 

It didn’t work.

 

He caught Luca tossing odd glances from the corner of his eye, but he tried to pay no attention. So long as Luca didn’t say anything, he’d be fine, but the loud sounds and bright images coming from the TV grated his ears and burned his eyes. It wasn’t long before he realized that this headache wasn’t going to go away on its own. He just had to remember where the hell the Advil was.

 

Street let out a soft grunt of discomfort as he tried to rub away a particularly sharp jab of pain from behind his eyes. This prompted Luca to look over, a concerned look on his face.

 

“Headache kicking your ass, huh?”

 

Street didn’t even bother asking how he knew. He was aware he had been obvious about it. “It’s a bitch. Do we have Advil here? Or Tylenol? Or a gun?”

 

Luca’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, well, we do have our guns, but that’s a lot of paperwork to do and you’re not shooting yourself. The Advil is in the mirror cabinet in the bathroom.”

 

“Buzzkill,” Street grumbled. He began to push himself off the couch. He tried to ignore the fact that his legs shook slightly as he did so. What he couldn’t ignore, though, was how much worse the pain had gotten once he was standing. As if sensing something was very wrong, Duke’s head shot up from the bone he was still chewing on and whipped towards Street, eyes wide.

 

Luca tensed up, ready to spring into action if he needed to, but he wasn’t able to prevent the rainbow splash of color that ingrained itself into Street’s vision. It took the shape of a circle, slowly filling in and rippling around the sides. For a moment, Street felt light on his feet, an out-of-body experience, but it all came crashing down immediately after. Before he could brace himself, the color disappeared and searing agony laced through Street’s skull, constricting his brain and tightening his muscles. Too focused on the pain, Street didn’t realize he was falling until he found himself being caught and lifted back onto the couch by Luca.

 

“Shit! Street, you okay?” Luca’s voice was panicked, worried, and all too loud for Street’s ears.

 

His response was a pained keening noise from the back of his throat. Definitely _not_ the answer Luca wanted.

 

“Damn,” he whispered. Luca gently shooed Duke off the couch, to which the dog responded by trotting off back in the direction of Luca’s bedroom. Paying no mind, the blonde carefully positioned Street to be laid out across the cushions, head off the arm rest and onto a pillow as to avoid neck pain. Only then did Luca murmur, “Hey, what’s going on? What happened?”

 

Street’s eyes were tightly shut and his hands had found their way as a shield from the light. All Street could muster was a low moan. “Luca, the TV.”

 

“Shit. Shit, right, sorry.” Luca quickly reached for the remote on the coffee table, fingers searching for the power button. As soon as it was pressed, the room was doused in darkness. Luca knew he wouldn’t be able to see much for a while, but his eyesight would soon adjust and it was better for Street this way, if the soft sigh of relief was any indication.

 

Luca placed the back of his hand against Street’s forehead, frowning when he felt the heat radiating off of him. “Hell, dude. What did you do to yourself?”

 

“Hemmings,” Street grunted out, drawing his legs closer to himself. He tried to curl up into a fetal position. He wanted nothing more than to be comfortable, but the pain in his head refused to provide any sort of solace.

 

“What about him?” Luca asked, concern weaving its way into his voice. What had the team missed?

 

“Head hit metal pole.”

 

_“What?!”_ Luca exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. Street made sure to remind him by groaning in agony immediately after. Luca knelt by the couch so that he was equal level to Street. Toning down the volume of his voice to a whisper, Luca continued, “Sorry, sorry, but what the hell were you thinking by not telling me or anyone else? You could have a concussion.”

 

“‘m fine.”

 

Luca rolled his eyes. “Right. Because you’re the perfect definition of ‘fine’ right now.” With a small exhale, Luca rose from his spot on the floor and crept towards the kitchen. From there, he gathered a small washcloth, folding it and running it under cool water. He squeezed out excess water and moved back towards Street. He gently moved Street’s head to a more open pose from being tucked in and placed the cool washcloth on his neck. Street sighed softly again, and Luca took that a sign that he was doing the right thing.

 

Moving away from his roommate again, Luca grabbed the bottle of Advil from the bathroom mirror cabinet and left back to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass of water and brought both items back to the living room. He knew the last thing Street wanted to do was move, but there was no way the younger man was going to be able to drink the pills lying down without choking.

 

“Hey, kid. I need you to sit up.” Street groaned in response. Luca winced. He had never seen his teammate in such a debilitated state before. He really didn’t like it and could do without seeing it again. He could only imagine the pain Street was experiencing, and he would bet his life his assumption didn’t even come close.

 

Street, though, could say firsthand that the pills Luca may be holding were not going to solve the sheer agony in his head. No, he needed a gun for that and Luca was very unwilling in giving it to him.

 

He had never quite believed that headaches could get bad enough to the point where he couldn’t move. Sure, he had heard of migraines, but he had never experienced one of this caliber, and he prayed he never would again. He couldn’t move any part of his body - especially his neck - without sending flares of pain throughout his skull, causing his vision to burst with color, even though his eyes were closed. Sound and light caused a reaction equivalent to sensory overload, as if there was way too much input and his brain was going to malfunction because of it.

 

Realizing that Street was not going to move anytime soon - at least not willingly - Luca maneuvered himself behind his roommate and supported Street’s back against his side, abandoning the wet cloth by tossing it onto the coffee table. Without saying a word, Street took the pills from Luca and popped them into his mouth. Luca helped him drink the water upon noticing his hands were shaking too much to hold it alone.

 

Once the pills were swallowed, Luca moved away slowly, gently guiding Street back down into a flat position. He breathed in a quiet deep breath as he tried to figure out what to do next. How do you take care of someone with a migraine? He was way out of his element here. Luca wasn’t exactly known for his elegance.

 

Luca eyed his friend on the couch. Street had to be uncomfortable. After all, their couch wasn’t the softest.

 

“Hey, kid,” he whispered. “Do you want to move to your room?”

 

Street thought about it. He really didn’t want to move at all - if ever - but the couch failed to provide him the relief he needed. His bed wasn’t soft, but definitely a lot more comfortable than where he was now. Just thinking of the pillows and blankets felt great. But he knew moving meant agony, and he really didn’t want any more of that.

 

“We’ll take it slow if you need to.”

 

Fuck, he hated this. He felt like a damn child. His head was killing him - a bomb setting off in his skull - but how could it bring him down to _this_? Unable to walk, talk, open his eyes? And what the hell was that burst of color? And how did it lead to this unbearable pain? Sure, the headache had sucked beforehand, but it had escalated to a point of absolute suffering and hell if Street knew what to do about it. He couldn’t think about much anymore, not when every thought that ran through his head was accompanied by a sharp stab of pain.

 

“Okay,” he gasped out, unable to gather much else a sound. “Room.”

 

Luca didn’t hesitate, allowing no time for Street to change his decision. He carefully helped Street into a sitting position, one hand on his roommate’s bicep and the other on his back. Moving the hand on Street’s bicep to forearm, Luca bore almost the complete weight of Street as he braced the other to stand. Together, the two worked for Street to remain upright. However, once up, Luca noticed just how unsteady Street was. The younger male’s legs shook and his hands didn’t fare well, either.

 

Luca wrapped one of his arms around Street’s waist and used the other one to take one of Street’s hands across his shoulders, so Luca was now supporting him. Slowly, both S.W.A.T. officers started to move around the couch and in the direction of Street’s room. The younger male moaned softly at the pain in his head as he took each step. The only thing Luca could do in response was squeeze Street’s hand companionably and pray that the pills kicked in soon, though he doubted it.

 

“Sorry, man,” Luca murmured, shifting them around the pinball machine. “We’re almost there, though.”

 

He only got back a groan in response.

 

Luca frowned. _Damn. This migraine must be kicking his ass._ He sighed inwardly. _Let’s just hope he doesn’t remember this tomorrow._

 

The two had just rounded the corner towards the bedrooms when Street suddenly grabbed Luca’s sweatshirt in a death grip.

 

“Street?” Luca called softly.

 

“Bathroom,” Street moaned. “Now.”

 

He didn’t have to tell him twice. Luca practically carried Street as gently but quickly as he could towards their bathroom. He didn’t even think about flipping on the light switch as he deposited Street on the floor in front of the toilet. Immediately after, the sound of Street retching filled the room. Luca winced in sympathy and perched himself on the side of the bathtub, his cool hand resting on Street’s burning neck. Eventually, the retching gave into vomiting, and Luca couldn’t do much but remain by Street’s side and flinch at the sound of Street being sick.

 

It didn’t take long – maybe a couple of minutes – but it had felt like hours. Street’s stomach finally settled and all that could be heard were the quiet wheezes as Street struggled for air and breathed through the pain. Luca’s hand had moved from Street’s neck to his back, rubbing in small circles as he tried to get the other man to calm down. Street reached up and flushed the toilet. The sound was ear-piercing as it broke the silence, and Luca could feel Street tense up underneath his hand.

 

“You okay?” he asked sotto voce.

 

“Fuck,” Street whined quietly. “It hurts.”

 

Luca’s mouth went dry and panic began to well up in him. When should he call it quits? When was enough? Should he take Street to the E.R.? He had never seen Street reduced to a whimpering mess of agony. When was it no longer a migraine but something much more serious?

 

“Hey, are you okay staying here for a sec?” Luca asked, halting his soothing movements.

 

“Hurts to move,” Street whispered in response.

 

Luca’s heart shattered. “I’ll be right back. Promise.” With that, he left the bathroom and moved back to the living room where he was far enough for Street to not hear the following conversation. He grabbed his phone and called Chris. He was aware that it was late at night, but he didn’t know who else to ask about this.

 

“H’llo?” She sounded exhausted, and she probably was, given that Luca had more than likely woken her up from her sleep.

 

“Hey, Chris. Sorry for waking you.”

 

“Luca?” She sounded much more awake now. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I just have a…really serious question.”

 

“It couldn’t wait ‘til the morning?”

 

“No.”

 

She paused, sensing the urgency in his voice. “Shoot.”

 

“Do you get migraines?”

 

He could practically hear her frown from over the phone. “Only when I’m about to get my monthly. Why?”

 

“How do you take care of them?”

 

Chris paused again. “Okay, so obviously it’s not you because you wouldn’t be able to call me right about now so…” Luca could hear her take a deep breath. “How bad is he?”

 

Luca sighed, running a hand through his hair worriedly. “Bad, Chris. Can’t move. Stupidly sensitive to sound and light. I gave him pills, but I don’t think they’re going to work. He just finished throwing up in the bathroom.”

 

“Shit…” Chris murmured. After another sigh, Chris continued, “Look, there really isn’t much else you can do for him. Once a migraine starts, it’s there and it’s not going away without some heavy prescription meds, which you don’t have. The best thing you can do is get him settled somewhere comfortable, preferably his bed. Make sure the room is completely dark and shielded from light, so if he has windows in his room, close them. Migraines can last a while, so make sure the curtains are closed in case he still has it in the morning. Get a glass of water, make sure he stays hydrated. Um…what else? Uh, make sure he gets sleep. A lot of it. It’s gonna be hard since the pain’ll be distracting him, but once he’s asleep, he’ll feel so much better.”

 

Luca groaned inwardly. So, basically, there was nothing he could do to help Street and just had to settle for watching him suffer. Great.

  
He sighed. “Thanks, Chris. Again, sorry for waking you.”

 

“It’s fine,” she answered, followed by a large yawn. “But, Luca, I know this is a big ask, but stay with him. He might get sick again during the night. Or the migraine might get worse, and, yes, it can get worse. Trust me, he will vocalize it if it does. If it does worsen, get him to the E.R. _immediately_. There might be something else that’s wrong, okay?”

 

Luca nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Yeah, of course. I won’t leave him.”

 

“Alright. Night, Luca. Good luck.”

 

“Thanks, Chris. Good night.”

 

With that, he hung up, sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening, and darted back to the bathroom where Street was supposed to be. Sure enough, Street still lingered where Luca had left him, curled up in pain on the bathroom floor.

 

“Street?” Luca called faintly. “Come on, man. We gotta get you to your bed.”

 

“No…” was the pained reply.

 

Luca’s heart clenched in sympathy. He carefully made his way towards Street before crouching down and gently pulling him into a sitting position. Street’s head lolled against his shoulder, causing Luca to swallow thickly. Shit. This was so not right.

 

“I’m lifting you in three…two…one.” Luca, very tenderly, lifted Street to stand, resuming the same carrying stance he had before. They gradually began to make their short journey towards Street’s room.

 

Luckily, Street didn’t have any windows to close, and the kid was a bit of a neat freak, so Luca didn’t have any obstacles to worry about as he led Street to the bed and gently situated Street into a comfortable position on his stomach. Once he was sure Street was okay, Luca rushed off to grab a cold glass of water and a cool compress. By the time he had returned, Street had resumed shaking.

 

Luca placed the glass of water down on the Street’s bedside table and rested the cool compress on the back of Street’s neck. He was immediately greeted by a soft breath of relief, causing him to smile slightly. At this point, Street was taking up most of the bed, so Luca cautiously scooched him over just a little bit to have enough room to climb on the bed and rest against Street’s headboard.

 

“What are you doing?” Street mumbled into his pillow.

 

“Staying the night with you.”

 

There was a brief moment of silence. “You don’t have to.”

 

Luca gave a quiet huff of amusement. _Oh, trust me, kid, I have to_. But at the same time… “I want to, kid. At least for my sake of mind.”

 

Street went quiet again. For a while, Luca had thought Street had fallen asleep until he heard a quiet, “’m sorry.”

 

_Sorry for what? Getting beaten up by Hemmings? Getting your head slammed into a pole? Not telling anybody that you got hurt? For getting a migraine? For needing me to help you? For having me spend the night in your room to make sure you’re okay?_ Luca was only mad about one of those thoughts – and he’d make sure Street would hear his mouth later because not telling anyone he was injured was _stupid_ – but, for right now, there was nothing Luca wanted to hear Street apologize for. Because there was nothing _to_ apologize for.

 

“Don’t be. You’re good.”

 

And that was that. It hurt too much for Street to talk, but also because the younger male understood all of Luca’s feelings in that one short response.

 

“Try to sleep, kid. I’ll be here if you need me.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Any time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3,230 words; seven pages on Word  
> Author’s Note: Well, here’s the second chapter. I know it was marked completed before, but some of you guys wanted another chapter, so here it is! Hope you guys enjoyed this one as well. I want to write more Street and Luca friendship, but I’m kinda running out of ideas, so if you guys could send me prompts, that’d be much appreciated. Until then, enjoy!

xxxxxxx

Street would be flat-out lying if he said he got much sleep that night. At some point in those few hours, Luca’s hand had found its way onto his neck and scalp, casually massaging the migraine away, as if he wasn’t crossing boundaries he and Street had set months before. Luca tried to play it off, choosing to close his eyes and “attempt to sleep” as he massaged Street’s head, but Street knew what he was really trying to do. Street didn’t stop him, though. He didn’t have enough energy to do so, and, if he was being completely honest, it felt _nice._ It definitely didn’t make the piercing, stabbing pain in his head go away, but it certainly made it feel a little better.

He felt so tired. Not only tired physically, but emotionally as well. It had been a long day, what with witnessing dead or severely injured college students and chasing down a criminal, who was probably on steroids. Now he also had to deal with a damn migraine that refused to leave. Luca offered him more Advil after a few hours had passed, but Street couldn’t even bring his head up to swallow them, and Luca didn’t want to force him to, not when it would cause him added pain. Luca decided the massage would be their compromise, even if he hadn’t verbally expressed it. He just started rubbing Street’s neck without warning, and Street failed to find the strength to stop him. Again, he kinda didn’t want to.

Despite this, Street still maintained guilt for putting Luca in this situation at all. It wasn’t fair to him. Luca had also had a rough day, and he felt just as tired as Street did, but because Street decided to play stupid and not tell anyone he got hurt, he ended up dragging Luca into a sleepless night with him. He supposed he could be thankful they had tomorrow and the next day off, but he could imagine that Luca would’ve wanted to do something more exciting than catching up on sleep.

“Luca,” he murmured.

Luca’s reply was soft, the same as it had been the past few hours. “Yeah?”

“Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying, but you keep talking.” Street had never heard a worse lie. He knew Luca hadn’t gotten anywhere near sleeping, especially not with his fingers still pressing down soothingly on Street’s neck.

“I mean it, Luca. ‘m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Listen, don’t worry about it. I’m good here. Now go to sleep. You’d feel better if you did.”

Street desired nothing more than the open arms of rest, but the agony still persisted, and every time he got close to drifting off, another sharp spike of pain would wake him again.

“’m trying.”

He heard Luca breathe a small sigh. He wondered if Luca had done so out of irritation or sympathy. Street guessed both, but he could be wrong.

“Migraine still as bad?”

“No. Little better now.”

_Now that’ve you started massaging it away, but I’m not saying anything._

Luca snorted quietly in amusement, seemingly picking up on the subliminal message anyway. “Do you need anything?”

_Another cool wet cloth would be nice._ The other one had been removed a long time ago after it had warmed. _I would like you to keep massaging my head, even if I tell you to stop, which sounds really counterproductive and annoying now that I think about it, but, according to you and the rest of the team, I blame it on my supposed trust issues._

“No. ‘m fine.”

“I can get you another wet cloth.”

_Yes._

“No.”

Luca hesitated. “Yeah, I’m gonna get you one anyway.”

Street opened his mouth to protest, especially when Luca’s fingers slipped away from his hair, but Luca had already crossed the room, snagging the abandoned cloth from the nightstand and heading to the bathroom. Street immediately found himself missing the pressure Luca had been applying to his head; his migraine felt twice as worse without it. Street let out a soft groan. When was this going to end?

“Hey, you okay?” Luca asked gently, placing the newly wet and cool washcloth on the base of Street’s neck.

“Just please get me a gun already.” That was the only thing Street was willing to beg for as his skull throbbed with pain.

Luca flinched. “No can do, bud,” he replied, sliding back into his original spot on the bed. “You’re gonna have to settle with suffering next to me for a little while longer.”

Street groaned in protest, only to be cut off when Luca’s hand made its way back underneath his hair.

Luca snickered. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Go to sleep.”

With the cool wet cloth, combined with Luca’s massage, Street very nearly fell asleep in the next half hour. However, because fate loved to screw with him, as he finally felt the warm embrace of slumber, the sound of loudly screeching tires echoed from outside and pierced through the silence of the night.

Street’s eyes snapped open, eyes watering in agony as sharp spikes of pain stabbed at every inch of his skull. His head continued to pound harshly, a throbbing sensation overwhelming and blocking any thought from his mind. But it still couldn’t block out the sound of a loud car horn that persisted for several seconds, like a person holding down on the steering wheel in anger, despite the fact other people in the neighborhood were trying to sleep.

Street couldn’t stop the sharp gasp of discomfort that escaped, hands flying up to cover his ears. He felt Luca’s hand tense on the base of his neck, a soft _“shit”_ falling from his mouth as he tried to decide whether to stay with Street or tell whoever was in the car to shut the hell up.

Street, on the other hand, chose to clench his eyes shut tight, but the damage had already been done. For a brief moment, he felt no pain. Instead, he felt just as he had right before his migraine had started. Despite his eyes being closed, bright colors danced in the blackness of his vision, taunting him and clouding everything he tried to see. His body succumbed to numbness and felt almost lighter, like he was floating in vast nothingness. He could hear and feel nothing, only seeing those bright and colorful lights.

But, just as he did before, he came crashing down in a blaze of stabbing, white-hot pain searing through his head, slamming at the edges of his skull, threatening to break it open. A loud keening noise sounded from the back of his throat as he curled up on his bed, involuntarily moving away from Luca’s hand. Darkness teased at the edges of his vision, making sick promises to gather him into unconsciousness, free from all the pain. Street welcomed it. He could hear Luca trying to grab his attention, calling his name, but Street couldn’t fight the miserable aching anymore. It took mere seconds to finally be enveloped by the darkness he so eagerly sought after.

Luca, however, was flipping the fuck out. The car horn eventually ceased, but Street had gone from incredibly tense to completely lax underneath his hand. He tried to call his name, get him to look at him, but Street didn’t budge. It took approximately one minute for Luca to realize, _He’s passed out_.

Shit.

In a flurry of motion, Luca leapt up from the bed and raced to his phone on the bedside table, the bright light burning his eyes in the dark room, but it didn’t stop him from dialing 9-1-1. The operator picked up the call and barely managed to finish his greeting when Luca barked,

“This is Officer Dominique Luca, 22-David, LAPD SWAT. My roommate was suffering from a severe migraine and he just fell unconscious.”

“Okay, officer. Can you tell me your address?”

Luca hardly paid attention to the rest of the conversation, choosing instead to busy himself by pressing two fingers to Street’s neck, feeling for a pulse. He knew he would get one – and he did – but it didn’t stop his heart from beating fast, especially not with the tear tracks staining Street’s face. Luca would bet everything he had that Street hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

Luca wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of the person who thought it would be a brilliant idea to hold down a horn for that long at this time of night. He didn’t even recall hanging up the phone, only that he had somehow maneuvered Street’s head to be cradled in his lap. The washcloth had been discarded, but Luca still kept his hand running through Street’s hair.

“You’re gonna be okay, kid. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

xxxxxxx

“James Street?”

Luca’s head snapped up from the prayer-like position he had been in as he waited for someone, _anyone_ , to tell him his roommate would be okay. Sure enough, a doctor stood at the doorway to the waiting room, glancing over each person in there – there were only three other people besides Luca – and started to approach him upon noticing Luca’s acknowledgement to Street’s name.

“Doctor Rutherford,” the man greeted, holding out a hand for Luca to shake.

Luca stood and took the proffered hand. Luca was confident he looked like a mess – tired, worried, even a bit annoyed – but Doctor Rutherford paid no mind and simply gestured for Luca to follow him, speaking as they walked.

“First things first, James will be okay.”

A small sigh of relief fell from Luca’s lips and the tension in his muscles fled.

“We had to give him a sumatriptan injection. Sumatriptan typically works better before the migraine headache begins, but it can still be somewhat effective during the attack,” Doctor Rutherford explained, leading Luca down the stark white walls of the hospital.

“Will the migraine still be there when wakes up?”

Doctor Rutherford sighed. “Hard to say. It can be, but if it does, we can treat it with another injection if necessary. However, James is currently resting right now, and that can do wonders for a migraine.”

Luca nodded slowly, attempting to soak in and process the information given to him.

The two men arrived at a room door. Doctor Rutherford turned to him. “We would like to keep him under observation for a little while after he wakes up. If all is well, he can be discharged.”

Luca gave him a small smile. “Okay, good. Thanks, doc.”

“Of course. Page the nurses if you need anything else.”

“Will do.”

With that, Doctor Rutherford turned and walked away. Luca took in a deep breath, pushing open the hospital room door. The room contained no light, doused in complete darkness, save for the slightest shine of moonlight peeking through the window blinds. Luca could hear the steady beeping of the heart monitor and quiet breaths as Street slept. Luca sighed and grabbed a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it up next to Street’s bed before plopping down in exhaustion.

Luca rubbed his eyes in exasperation. He should probably call the team, let them know one of their own was in the hospital. He really didn’t feel up to a conversation – much less wake up _another_ one of his teammates in the middle of the night – but he knew Hondo and the others would be pissed as hell if he didn’t call them.

Luca fished out his phone and dialed Hondo’s number, keeping an eye on Street’s chest as it rose and fell steadily. It didn’t take long for Hondo to answer.

“Luca?”

“Hey, boss.”

“It’s four in the morning, man. What’s going on?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. Uh, well, Street’s in the hospital.”

“… _what?”_

Luca huffed out a small laugh. Hondo’s tone conveyed incredulity, anger, and worry all in one, and, hell, if that didn’t sum up what Luca felt right now. “Yeah. He was suffering from a bad migraine tonight. Got worse about an hour or so ago. Had to take him to the E.R.”

“Migraine? From what?”

“Well, you see, get this, the kid hid an injury from us.”

Hondo paused again. “…he did _what?!”_

“Yup. I know. I had about the same reaction. Apparently, during the fight with Hemmings, his head got slammed into a metal pole-”

“I’m going to kill this kid.”

“-and instead of telling anyone, he just casually pretended like he wasn’t suffering from a monster headache, which later evolved into a full-blown migraine attack.”

Hondo let out a long sigh. “Good Samaritan Hospital?”

“Yup.”

“I’m on way.”

“You don’t have to, you know. He’s knocked out right now.”

_“I’m on my way, Luca.”_

Luca gulped nervously. “Uh, right. See you soon, boss.” Hondo ended the call.

He watched Street sleep for a little while, choosing to bounce his leg to keep himself awake until Hondo arrived. Street looked more peaceful now than he had in the past several hours. Luca ran a hand through his hair. The kid had been a complete mess, and Luca didn’t want to see him like that ever again. He bet Street would wish the same, too.

He couldn’t help but feel angry, though. He wasn’t mad about staying up to help his roommate or take care of him. No, he was pissed Street even thought it was a good idea to hide a head injury from them. What kind of idiot does that? Luca snorted. Oh, Street was in for it when he woke up. And Luca called first dibs.

xxxxxxx

The first thing Street felt when he woke up was… _nothing_. He wanted to cry. The stabbing, piercing pain had disappeared, leaving him clear-minded and pain-free. He could remember most of the night before. He could almost feel the embarrassment creeping up his neck as memories of Luca carrying him, watching him throw up, sitting with him, _and_ massaging him flooded his mind. Street hadn’t wanted to crawl in a hole and die more than he did now.

But, unfortunately, he couldn’t do that, so he just settled for opening his eyes.

His eyes felt glued shut and it was hard to open them, but once he did, he could see the sunlight pouring through the window to his right. He cast a glance around the room. Luca was on his phone in a chair next to his bed, a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee in his hand, seemingly not noticing that Street was awake.

“Luca?” His voice sounded hoarse and small, but it was better than nothing.

Luca’s head shot up, and he tossed his phone onto the side table with complete disregard. He straightened in his chair, and Street could see the relief in his eyes. “Hey, man. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Street murmured.

“Migraine gone?”

Street gave an affirmative noise from the back of his throat.

Luca nodded. “Good, good.” He casually placed his coffee on the table as well. Street narrowed his eyes at his tone. He sounded calm… _too_ calm.

“So, just to be clear, no migraine?”

“No migraine,” Street answered slowly, if not a bit apprehensive.

“Alright, good. So then it won’t hurt too much when I yell at you about how much of a _fucking idiot you are_.” Luca glared at Street, anger coating his face.

Street winced. “I’m…sorry?”

“Yeah, you damn well should be,” Luca snapped. “The hell were you thinking, Street? Hiding a head injury? Are you _kidding_ me?”

“I-”

“No, no, no. You don’t get to speak yet.” Luca scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Do you know how much worse off you could have been? A cut? Whatever, that’s fine. So long as you clean it and watch for an infection, you’re good. Bruises? Pop an ibuprofen. Take a bath with Epsom salts if you want to. That’s fine. A _head injury?_ You are out of your _goddamn_ mind, Street!”

“I didn’t think it’d get that bad-”

Luca threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “You got your head slammed into a metal pole, Street! Our helmets can only protect us from so much! So, yes, you’re going to feel the consequences later. I don’t even care if you got a goddamn paper cut, you _tell us_.”

“I’m sorry.”

Luca glared at him a little longer before closing his eyes and sighing deeply. He sagged back into his chair, exhausted. He still had yet to get any sleep and he was certainly feeling it now.

“Listen, kid, I know you have trust issues or whatever, but you cannot be doing this, man. I was scared shitless. I had to call Chris in the middle of the goddamn night to make sure you weren’t dying!” Luca took a deep breath, opening his eyes and looking at his ashamed roommate. “I don’t want you to apologize for keeping me awake or staying with you. That was completely my choice, and, trust me, I don’t mind. I would do it again in a heartbeat, but you have to understand that if you don’t tell Hondo or Deacon or _anybody_ that you got hurt, you have to at least tell me. This could’ve been a helluva lot worse.”

“I know,” Street muttered. “I’ll tell you next time. Promise.”

Luca nodded. “Okay.” He reached for his coffee and took a small sip. “You sure you’re okay? That your headache’s gone?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Luca smirked. “Good, ‘cause I can hear Hondo coming down the hall. And he just got his morning coffee.”

Street’s eyes widened in horror. “Are you serious?”

“He’s been here with me for the past three hours, and, man, let me tell you, he has some words to say.”

Street groaned loudly, just as Hondo walked in the door, coffee cup in hand. He took one cautious look at Street before turning to Luca. “Migraine gone?”

“Yup,” Luca replied happily, though not just because Street was feeling better. This was going to be fun to watch.

“And he’s good for conversation?”

“No, I’m not.”

“All yours, boss.”

Hondo whirled on Street. “Boy, what the hell were you thinking?”

Street placed his hands over his face. “Kill me now,” he pleaded quietly.

“No, no. You don’t get off that easy. A head injury, Street? You could’ve had a serious concussion, or worse! You can’t hide that shit from us! We need to know these things, is that clear?”

“Yes, boss,” Street replied miserably, dropping his hands and looking at Hondo tiredly.

Hondo merely shook his head and sighed. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Luca opened his mouth, ready to tease Street, when Chris came barreling into the hospital room, Deacon and Tan following close behind. Each of them had a coffee cup in their hands, but their appearance said they just rolled out of bed. They looked to Luca and Hondo.

“Migraine?” Chris asked.

“All gone!” Luca answered, his joyful grin widening even more. God, this was _great_.

Street glared at him. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Luca laughed and winked. “Oh, bud, not enough.”

“And you’re sure he’s good? No serious injury or anything?” Deacon prompted, a worried look on his face.

Hondo shook his head. “Doc said he should be fine.”

“So we don’t have to worry about it coming back?” Tan questioned, just for one last confirmation.

“It shouldn’t.”

“Good,” Deacon hummed quietly. The three immediately turned to Street, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Chris yelled.

“God, help me,” Street whispered.

Luca snorted into his coffee. “Nice try, but even God can’t save you now.”


End file.
